The Fan in the Fanatic
by Maevenly
Summary: A body discovered in the trunk of an exploded car leads to an investigation that could cost Booth and Brennen their lives. Someone has it in their heads that watching a live action Kathy Reichs novel is better than reading one. Booth/Brennen, full cast
1. Chapter 1

**The Fan in the Fanatic**

**Chapter One: Setting the Scene**

* * *

Right hand on the steering wheel, left elbow jutting out a couple of inches of his open window, wind in his face and sunglasses on his head, both of Seeley Booth's eyes were on the road. That is, when he wasn't checking his mirrors or rolling his eyes at the woman sitting next to him. She hadn't stopped talking since she walked off of the elevator in her building. How someone could ignore a cloudless sky, perfect May temperature and the freedom of the open road for a bunch of broken pottery in Metso-medeviel-East-Timbuktu was beyond him. But then again, a lot of what she said was beyond him. But that was okay – because he got to carry a gun and she couldn't. Tapping his fingers against the corrugated casing of the steering wheel, Booth smirked. _Gotta love the way the Universe balances itself out._

An open MacBook perched on her lap and speaking into an ear bud, Temperance Brennan continued a conversation that started well before Booth picked her up at her apartment. Dr. Hans Boyd, while excavating a site along the steppes outside of Constantinople, had unearthed an anthropological conundrum. The pictures and cross-sections Boyd streamed to her computer were enthralling. How Booth could wax on about his appreciation for the DC skyline and yet have no interest in the anthropological fundamentals that enabled existence of everything he professed love about current society was beyond her. But that was okay – she was the one who always had a pair of gum-boots stored with her gear. Stifling a smirk, she mused that the number of times he used the word 'squint' in a derogatory fashion and the number of times he had to order new foot apparel were directly related.

"Yes – I see exactly what you're referring to Dr. Boyd." Eying the pictures on her screen, she zoomed in on the highlighted segments of clay. "For the era and location, the process in which that vase was created doesn't correlate with the existing information pertaining to that area."

Movement to his right had Booth looking in her direction. She was angling her screen, trying to maximize the amount of shade that fell across her machine. Reflexively, he brought his left hand to the wheel, reached out with his right and flipped down her visor. The 'tah-dah' motion he made with his hands once he regripped the wheel was something she never saw. He did feel the appreciative pat she gave his thigh. This time, he didn't smirk. A look of smug affirmation morphed into a pleased smile as he refocused on navigating the fast-moving, ever-congested, Beltway traffic. _Oh yeah – the Universe definitely has a way of balancing itself out._

Swerving over to the next lane, he checked his mirrors and pressed the accelerator. It wasn't that he was in a rush to get to the office. Lord knew that the case files of those three women would still be on his desk whether he arrived at eight-thirty or eight-forty-five just as he knew that the files matched the three sets of skeletal remains that rested side-by-side in Bone's lab. No names, no cause of death, no leads. Not as of yet. But Bones would come through for him. She'd give him something, anything, to latch onto and take to the mat. The sooner he could get her to work, the better. But, within reason. There was no way he was going to enable her crack-of-dawn-to-the middle-of-the-night work schedule. In his book, work was done during work hours. Non-work hours were exactly that – hours spent not working. For him, it meant going to the gym, hitting the firing range, spending time with Parker and perusing flea markets for vintage Green Lantern comic books. For Booth, he knew she spent a lot of her time with her books: writing, editing, promotion, fan-mail response, karate class, yoga.

"Dr. Boyd, your invitation is generous and I would enjoy seeing your discoveries first hand," Bones answered. Without missing a beat, she added, "But at this point in time it would not be feasible for me meet you in Turkey. I have a commitment which cannot be delegated at this point in time."

The curve of Booth's smug grin flattened. It was moments like that which reminded him that her services – her time as his partner – were fulfilling an inter-agency obligation. Her skills and talents crossed every international boundary and social strata. She went where she could do the most 'good'. If that meant that she should be knee-deep in pond muck locating human remains, then so be it. But, if her skills could be used to ascertain key points of evolution in human events, then so be it. If her capabilities could lead the World Court to convict an individual of 'crimes against humanity', then so be it. He should be grateful he got so much of her time as it was.

"I will, though, send you a list of persons who may be agreeable substitutes." Smiling graciously to the man on the other end of the digital line, it wasn't difficult to figure out what Dr. Boyd said. "Likewise, Hans; collaborating on this project would have been a most unique opportunity for the both of us."

Now on edge, Booth shifted in his seat and reflexively checked his mirrors. A hole had opened up in the lane to his right. Smoothly sliding over, he glanced at Brennan. She had her hand to her ear and he could tell that her ever-lasting phone call was wrapping up. Pressing on the gas one more time, he slid out from behind the mini-van that was in front of him and seamlessly blended with the fastest flowing traffic. For one brief moment, he could see all the way up the highway. Behind it, the first of Washington's monuments gleamed in the morning's light.

Time suddenly slowed. Sixty-eight miles per hour became four miles per hour. Twenty car lengths ahead of him – them – a dark green sedan abruptly jack-knifed. Cars of every make had nowhere to go and no time to do anything about it. Sounds of breaking glass, fibreglass crunching and metal striking metal were drowned out by the 'whoosh' of air being consumed by a mighty fireball.

Time reverted back to normal with a roar. Then, it accelerated. A wall of propelled heat slammed into their SUV even as the flash-and-flare of exploding sedan momentarily blinded Booth. Eyes closed and jerking the wheel, he did the only thing he could do. He diverted the car into the median. If he couldn't avoid being in an accident, the least he could do was avoid making an already tragic situation even more horrific.

Bouncing hard as the tires fought for traction, the large vehicle fishtailed before completely rolling over. Landing on all four wheels, the car finally came to a stop.

Gasping for breath, adrenaline pumped through his veins. Scrabbling for the pen inside his suit jacket, he exposed the point and jabbed at the deployed air bag. The safety device saved him from having a steering wheel for a ribcage but it also prevented him from helping Bones. Expanding and shutting his eyes in attempt to shake the last of the blurriness from his vision, he groped for bearings. The windshield had spider-webbed and the roof was thoroughly dented, but the doors worked – with a little help from a pair of solidly placed size eleven shoes.

Walking around the front of the car on shaky legs, he reached the passenger side of the car. The side window was gone. The airbag looked like it never deployed. The backing of seat – her seat – was pushed all the way back, nearly reclined all the way to the back seat.

_Oh, God!_

"Bones!" Booth called out. Urgency deepened his voice. The need to find her underscored his urgency. "BONES! Talk to me!"

Images of her being thrown from the car as it rolled over flashed in his brain. From his right, sounds of cars literally driving into each other sent his anxiety level into the stratosphere.

"Booth – over here!"

His head whipped around. It was her! She was well enough to call out to him.

"Back here, Booth!"

Following her voice, using the side of the car for support, he came to the back hatch of the SUV.

Brennen was there, inside the car. Shaken, but clear headed. On her hands were the towels she kept in her bag. She was using the terry cloth to shield her hands as she pulled chunks of safety glass from the back window into the cargo area.

"Booth – help me." Her words were solid, her voice raspy. Determination set her shoulders.

Nodding, he walked up the back of the SUV and with several powerful thrusts of his elbows, succeeded in making an opening big enough for her to slither through.

Extending his hands, he expected to grasp her wrists. Instead, his fingers curled around two, heavy, plastic handles, each attached to cases marked with a caduceus.

Setting the first-aid boxes down, he reached in one more time. Pulling, bracing his legs against the earth beneath his feet, a battered Bones was freed from the wrecked car.

"We're going to need these." Reaching for her waist, she fumbled with a wad of blue nylon. Unravelling one FBI jacket, it was only a moment before the other one followed.

"Aw – but Bones – no corsage?" Booth quipped. Shrugging into his jacket, he had to say something. Too much adrenaline and other glandular secretions only squints could name were pumping through his system.

"I don't know what that means."

Tucking a tendril of hair behind her ear, she picked up one case and offered it to him. The other, she kept for herself.

Leading the way, Booth picked the best path back to the highway.

_So much for getting Bones to the lab..._

***~~~***~~~

Thick smoke, too laden with motor oil and other contaminates to rise more than a few meters above their source, brought the visibility of anything at eye-level down to less than an eighth mile.

Fire crews and EMS personnel were continuing to arrive. Overhead, news copters circled.

By virtue of his assertiveness and her creditials, the premptive, harried, 'you can't be here, let us do our jobs' voiced by the more junior members of the emergency response teams gave way to being directed to the on-site commanders.

Separated by skill, Booth went one way and Brennen went another. Paired with the Fire Marshal Davies and Davies' assistant, the three of them systematically moved from one car to the next, tracing the deadly domino effect all the way to the charred remains of what was once a dark green sedan.

Approaching the vehicle, Booth grimaced along with the two men who flanked him. Water and protective foam coated everything - including his brand new shoes and funky socks.

"Should've worn gum-boots, dude." Lipton, Davies assistant, pointed at the water that seeped from the stitching in Booth's shoes.

Before he could say anything, Marshal Davies put a hand out and effectively stopped Booth from getting any closer to the vehicle.

Making an exaggerated sniffing noise, Davies looked at Booth. "Do you smell that?"

Inhaling deeply, Booth got a nose-full of something he definitely didn't like. Regardless of what Hodgins or Zach said, it definitely wasn't beef or chicken.

"I need a crowbar." Exhaling, he gave the Marshal an expectant look which was immediately passed onto his assistant. "And tell Dr. Brennen that she's needed up here."

Walking all the way around the vehicle, his ruined shoes forgotten, the creepy feeling curling in his stomach intensified the closer he got to the trunk. Squaring off with the back end of the car, he planted his feet and shoved his aching hands into his pockets.

Thankfully, his wait was short.

"Booth – what's up?" Brennen inquired.

Sparing her a look, he saw that she was battered – emotionally and physically. Assisting with triage would do that to a person. But, if his gut was right, this would be just the thing to get her re-invigorated. Beside her stood Lipton; he didn't have a crowbar, but he was carrying a fireman's axe.

"I think you," he waved at the still sealed trunk, "might want to do the honours."

Accepting the tool from Lipton and wedging the blade at what looked to be the weakest point, Bones gave the handle a fierce wrench.

With a groan, the tortured metal slowly lifted.

The Marshal gagged. His assistant puked. Booth closed his eyes and sent a prayer to God. Brennen's quizzical expression had him sending up another prayer just for her.

Seared to the roof of the trunk was a body.

_Looks like someone forgot to buy cooking spray…_


	2. Chapter 2

**THE FAN IN THE FANATIC: CHAPTER TWO**

Author's Note: Sorry about the delay... No excuses, just an apology

Necessary Disclaimers: No infringement intended, just having fun with someone else's characters

* * *

Large and in charge, compensating for the fact that he was wet, dirty, and grappling with the fact that the first phases of an adreneline hangover were assaulting his mind and body, Seeley Booth made sure the driver of the tow truck backed up cleanly and neatly. It was his job to see to it that the charred remains of a green sedan arrived at the Jeffersonian loading bay and come hell-or-high-water, he was going to make sure the squints had a busted-up new toy to play with and a means by which to tell him why he and his partner almost died.

"Okay - that it's it!" The high-pitched beeping coming from the tow-truck ceased as Booth made a slashing motion with his hand. Keeping his voice raised, he shouted out, "Set her down easy."

"_It_, Booth. A car is devoid of gender; schematics for a motor vehicle – regarless of where _it_ is manufactured – do not include male or female markers."

"I know that, Bones." The tall brunette standing at his shoulder earned herself one of his patented eye-rolls-without-actually-rolling-his-eyes. "Ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the people in the world - a car is almost always referred to as a 'she', 'her', or-"

"Whoa, baby!" Jack Hodgins gave a low, appreciative, whistle as he claimed a bit of floor space near Booth's other shoulder.

"My point, exactly." Booth couldn't resist the look and saucy wink he shot at his partner as Hodgins inadvertently finished his sentence for him. Being vindicated by one of her own didn't happen every day.

Shoving her hands into the pockets of her lab coat – the same coat that was covering up the bulk of the filth, grime and evidence of the near-fatal car accident she and Booth recently survived – she wasn't about to let his statistical declaration go unchallenged.

Matching his wink with an arched eyebrow, she pulled back the corner of her mouth. "I'd like to see-"

"Who ordered the Chevy-flambé?" Scanning the wreckage, Cam's arrival made the trio standing in the loading bay a foursome.

"See, Bones," Booth summoned a half-smile from the resevior of fondness he had for Brennan, "sometimes I _do_ get to have the last word."

The whine of straining hydraulics echoed off of the steel and concrete of the cavernous area. As soon as all four wheels touched the ground, several technicians made quick work of releasing the vehicle. One squint ferried paperwork from the driver to Booth. Signing off on the necessary documents and sending it back to the driver of the tow-truck, Booth mentally accounted for everyone he was going to need in order to solve this case.

The only one missing was…

The click of strappy sandals against the concrete flooring didn't break his concentration. It just meant that now, everyone was there. Now, he could really get the investigation started.

"Bren – you okay?" Taking in the way Brennan was standing – and how Brennan was attempting to gloss over the fact that it was only 11am and she had already had a hell of a day – Angela's hushed tone didn't diminish her concern from her friend.

Looking up without making it look like he was looking up from where he was passing out folders to Hodgins and Cam, he tuned into the conversation between Bones and Angela. If Brennan was going to tell anyone if she was really okay, it would be her other best friend.

He didn't miss the way Brennan answered Angela's question by glancing his way before she narrowed her eyes and subtly shook her head. Nor could he misinterprept that Angela knew exactly what Bones didn't say: _later – not_ _here, not now._ Mentally shaking his head, as much as he didn't like the way his partner did – or didn't – keep things from him, he had to admit that he understood. To a certain degree, he did the same exact thing.

Which was why he kept his face neutral when he handed Angela her folder of information.

"Okay, people, tell me what I need to know." Booth stepped back and let the professionals do what they do best: give him every thing he'd need to catch the bad guy. "Oh – and Cam? – you'll find the toy surprise in the trunk."

Cam's curt nod of understanding meant that she was in full work-mode.

Reaching the rear bumper, she pulled at the strong adhesive tape that sealed the rear compartment of the vehicle. Without warning, the trunk's lid popped open. With a popping, squelching, sound, the head and shoulders stayed glued to the underside of the lid as it separated from the rest of the body. Everything from the ribcage and south of the ribcage macabrely slumped back into the trunk.

"Oh… I so didn't need to see that." Angela blinked hard. The artist in her shuddered. The woman in her matched the grimace she saw on Booth's face.

"So much for the cooking spray you bought," Hodgins quipped. The way his eyebrows matched the eager set to his frame made it clear he enjoyed the show a little too much. Shooting Booth a look, he couldn't resist playing with the FBI agent. "Dude – tell me you used a coupon. Or that, at least, it was on sale."

Deflecting Hodgin's attention – Cam just knew that one of these days Seeley would stuff her bug-and-slime guy into a terrarium and put the scientist on display in the main museum – she called out. "Hey Hodgins – you interested in this carpeting?"

Striding forward – a signal for the rest of the team to move in on the vehicle – Jack peered over Cam's shoulder. Foam and water from the accident scene had settled into the carpeting lining the bottom and sides of the trunk. All science, Hodgins put the kidding aside. "Whatever you don't need I'll get started on; there looks like there's quite a bit for me to work with an analyze."

Calling out from where she stood, Brennan claimed her bones. Almost as an after-thought, she added. "Once you've finished your analysis of the remaining flesh and tissue, that is."

Cam nodded. The forensic anthropologist still didn't practise all the nicities that existed within regular human interactions but she had to admit that the slightly younger woman was struggling to make improvements. Cam, though, could never fault her when it came to laboratory ettiquette. "Will do, Dr. Brennan."

"Angela?" Booth gave her a questioning look. "Do you think that, while they're doing 'their thing', you could re-create the explosion?"

"Sure." Angela nodded. In her head she was already mapping out what information she would input into the Angelinator. Referring to the file in her hands, she asked. "Is everything in here?"

"Yeah – everything you need." Confidence in the conciseness of his preliminary report firmed his posture. Consideration for his partner had him adding, "If there's something you need that isn't in there, I'm sure Bones could fill in the gaps."

Accepting his 'is that okay?' look for what it was, Brennan nodded – to both Booth and Angela. "Let me know if there's anything else you need to re-create the events of this morning."

"Will do." Angela could feel the undercurrents flowing around her and decided to just let them wash around her. This wasn't the time or place to dip her hands into that particular stream.

Accepting Angela's answer, Booth swung his head and caught Cam's attention despite her hands cupping scorched tissue. "Is there anything you need from us right now?"

Like Angela, Can could feel some sort of unspoken vibe rolling off of her friend as he referred to himself and Brennan. Ignoring the sensation as much as she acknowledged it, she paused for moment, considering his question before giving him an answer. "Right now, no." Forming a loose time table in her mind, she added, "It's going to be a while. Between collecting scrapings, samples and alike… Not to mention the fact that we've yet to extract the body from the trunk."

"Good."

The overly bright light of the loading bay was exacerbating his adreneline hangover. The smells coming from his ruined suit compounded the issue.

"Bones?" He didn't mean for his tone to change, but it did. Not a lot, but enough for Hodgins to look in his direction and for Angela to give them a bit of space.

"Yes?" Her furrowed brow went from studying the scene to focusing on him.

"Your car in the lot?"

"Yes - it's in my designated parking spot."

Giving her his best attempt at a charming smile, he dispensed with asking. "Good."

B*O*N*E*S….B*O*N*E*S…..B*O*N*E*S

Neither one of them felt like driving but neither one of them wanted to admit it. Asking for a driver was definitely not an option. After all, pride had it's price.

Walking with her out to her car, he didn't bother asking to drive. The way his head ached and the stiffening of his bruised body made conceeding the wheel to Bones an easy decision. Between the two of them, she appeared to be in better shape.

The question was: where to clean up? They had one car between them. His apartment was closer but he only had one bathroom. Her apartment was further away, but he didn't have any clothes with him.

It was her logical suggestion that solved the quandary. They'd pick up what he needed at his place and then they'd back-track to her apartment.

Conversation between was sparse but not awkward. It was a measured silence. A few attempts were made to talk about the case, but for the most part, each of them spent time with their own thoughts.

Booth had time to admit that he'd been scared when he couldn't immediately put his eyes on Brennan after the SUV stopped rolling. A kernel of anger started to expand as he thought about how she put aside her own injuries – there was no way she wasn't banged up – and 'volunteered' the two of them to help with the scene. That's when his anger expanded just a little bit more – because now he was angry with himself for that moment of selfishness. Of course he should have helped with the scene. It was his duty and moral obligation to help people in need. His agitation rose as he thought about how glad he was that she could compartementalize so well. Only Bones could go from a life-threatening accident, perform first aid on traumatized strangers, give an initial diagnosis on a hopelessly charred body, oversee the transport of same said body, and then stand there, in the loading bay, prepared to work.

It was the least he could do – get her out of there for at least a little while. Yeah, she could have cleaned up by using the lab's decontamination shower. But not on his watch.

She deserved better than that.

Another axiom inked into his book? Taking care of your partner meant taking care of them – all of them: mind, body, and spirit. He couldn't prevent her mind from dwelling on their newest case, but he could damn sure make it so that her body had a chance to recouperate and her spirit a chance to replenish its depleted emotional stores.

Biding his time as she unlocked her door, he followed her in and, without having to be told, locked it behind them. The sound of muted beeps had him looking at her as she typed in the security code into her alarm system. Only a few people had the code besides himself. Max, Russ and Angela rounded out the short list of those she entrusted with her personal security. That said a lot about how far she'd come – and how much her life had changed since they became partners.

That was something that, in the middle of the night, inflated what Sweets called his 'Guilt Balloon'. Before they started working together, her security system comprised of the doorman in the lobby, a 'panic button' that was connected to the 'in-house' security guard – aka, the doorman – and deadlock on her door. Now… Now, things were different. The offical name on her apartment papers was ficticious. She had her land-line phone disconnected. The installed electonic security was linked to one of the best agencies in town and it had a direct feed into his and Max's cell phones. There were still only two locks on her door but she had the sliding glass doors – the ones that led to her balcony – fitted with shatter-resistant glass. The tasteful drapes and co-ordinating blinds that accented her windows and sliders fit their frames perfectly. Once they were drawn, there was no way of knowing – by looking up from the street or from across the way – if she was home or not. Even her new refrigerator had a transparent door. She even took the extra step and ordered cabinets with glass panes when she re-modeled her kitchen.

She was as safe as she could be without sacrificing her quality of living. Which was, as he looked for a place to put his grimy jacket that wouldn't stain, quite a few steps above his level. But she never deliberately rubbed it in; she worked for her money. He had to respect that. It wasn't as if he stayed up late writing books or doing research for upcoming novels or making nice with Brennanites at signings.

Taking a cue from her, he hung his jacket along side hers off of the corner of the nearby wooden chair.

"Give me a moment and I'll get you some fresh towels."

"Thanks, Bones."

His sentence, tossed absently over his shoulder, caught her off guard. Watching her step over to her sound system and press two buttons, she didn't stifle the hint of smugness that crept along the muscles of her jawline when she saw him recognize the fact that she programmed the frequency of his favorite radio station into her machine. There was something… normal… about letting music fill their lapses of converversation. And right now, normal was a good thing. Eying her partner, she felt gratified when the rigidness in his spine decreased slightly. His weight was more evenly distributed to his legs and the cut of his suit became a bit less pronounced. He was still tightly wound. So was she, for that matter. But in the time they left the lab, went to his place, and walked through her front door, the odds on the likelihood of him imploding had shifted to a ratio she found to be moderately acceptable.

Making her way to the linen closet, she opened the door and pulled out a set of co-ordinating towels. If threre were a label on the shelf, it would've read, 'Booth's Towels'. They were the ones she bought specifically for him to use when he showered at her place. The logical reason was prudence: it made sense to procure such items because he used such items when he used her facilities. That – and it was fun to shop for them. Finding the perfect color of 'masculine-but-welcoming' towels made for an enjoyable afternoon spent with Angela as they flitted in and out of their favorite stores.

Loading up her arm, she used her free hand to shut the cupboard door. Turning on her heel, she caught a glimpse of shadow out of the corner of her eye. Two fluid movements had the towels clutched securely and the rest of her body readied in a defensive stance.

"Easy, Bones – it's just me." Booth assured her, his face coming into focus as the over head light fully lit his large frame.

The steadying hand he put on her arm didn't ease the beating of her adreneline infused heart but it did make her mentally laugh at her self.

"Sorry, Booth." Justifying herself for no other reason than the fact that she felt she had too, she added, "It's just that, for a moment, I forgot you were here."

She did let out a groan when Booth cracked a falsely-insulted frown and a more-playful-then-wounded glint sparked in his eye. Drawing out her groan, she pushed the towels at him and relocated the hand on her arm back to his person.

"Go get clean, Booth."

Satisfied that he actually headed towards the other bathroom, she walked into her own room. Her door didn't quite shut, but with the sound of water running, she didn't backtrack to shut it either.

Her lab coat she left to the laundry crew at the Jeffersonial to clean. Her personal clothes were another matter.

Shrugging off one layer at a time, the long coat she wore she hung on a hook on the back of her door. Looking at herself critically in her full-length mirror, her entire outfit was a loss. The dark purple top she put on just hours ago was all but ruined. Smoke, dirt, grit, grime, and blood – both her own and the people she assisted in treating – had permeated the fabric and her person both physically and olfactorily. Her matching slacks, the ones her tailor had beautifully fitted to her long, toned, thighs and hips, had suffered a similar fate. The discernable difference being that a sizable gash, all but tracing her right hamstring, had also opened up several layers of dermis. Her lab coat had hid the majority of the tear. As did the trench-coat she borrowed from Angela to wear home. The gauze pad the paramedic applied to the wound had, initially, staunched the gash. But, as she twisted in front of the mirror and peered over her shoulder, clearly it had re-opened and would have to be re-dressed.

Toeing off her shoes, she bent over and pushed down her trouser socks and underwear. Straightening, she popped her bra clasp. Scrutinizing it, she dropped it into the 'salvage' pile. Reaching for her longest robe, she slipped her arms into the sleeves. Belting the satin securely, she shook out her hair. The smell of sulfur, flame retardent, oil, gas, anticeptic and several other conflicting oders filled her nose.

A sudden idea had her on a mission.

Striding out to the kitchen, opening and closing half a dozen cabinents, combining herbs and essential oils, she made quick work of everything she placed on her counter.

Without braking for a thought, she took one of the two bowls she'd prepared and, without knocking, opened the door to the other bathroom.

"Oh – good – you're not dry yet." All she saw was that Booth had yet to dry off. She didn't register his yelp, the way he hastily clutched at the towel slung low across his hips or that he was embarrassed. "That's good because this works better when your wet."

Walking and talking at the same time, she reached up and poured the contents of the bowl directly over his head.

"You're going to want to close your eyes, Booth."

Her arms lifted and she started to massaged the concoction into his scalp. The thick rivulets of herb-speckled oils that streamed from his hairline she quickly spread over his neck, shoulders, and was about to apply to his chest when her hands were suddenly grabbed by one of Booth's much larger hands.

"Bones!" His eyebrows lifted and then quickly furrowed. His lids he cacked just enough to see her and still prevent whatever it was she dumped on him from getting in his eyes. "What the hell are you doing?!"

Without missing a beat, she slipped from his grasp. Brandishing the earthen bowl she had set on the counter, she excitedly explained. "It's a recipe that was taught to me by a village matriarch."

"And?" Booth prompted. The sensations caused by her using her hands on his slick skin didn't match the feelings of im-modesty and embarassment raging in his head.

"I was in the Phillipines, helping identify those who perished during a volcanic eruption."

Scraping several fingerfuls of the oil from the bowl, she spun him around and set in coating his back. Why he let her was beyond him.

"The smells were horrendous: sulphur, various other other gasses, the fumes from emminating from the excavated bodies – I couldn't seem to get them completely out of my skin and hair. That's when this old woman gave me a clay pot filled with this."

She bent at the knees and slathered his lower back. The oil slid easily over his hot, warm, wet skin. The smell that filled the bathroom was pleasant without being girly.

"It was a recipe that had been in use in the village for generations for purging those kinds of olfactory stains."

Pivoting before she could delve any lower, Booth stilled her hands one more time. He got it. He really did. "Bones – I get it. I really do."

Oh what a mistake. Now she was perched, balanced on her heels, right in front of his…

"Here – get up, Bones." Pulling her to her feet – and praying to every saint that his towel wouldn't slip – he tried to ignore the fact that Bones had now touched him places she had never touched before. "This stuff will get rid of the stink – right?."

"Precisely." Her eyes brightened. "That way, we don't have to live with the smell or wait for it to wear off."

His hands were just as slippery as hers, but he managed to walk her backwards, towards the door.

"Tell me, Bones – don't you have any sense of modesty?"

Her bright eyes became that of self-evaluation.

"For myself – no, I don't." She all but shrugged. "Given my level of fitness and the lack of privacy on many of the digs and expeditions I've participated in, my personal sense of modesty can be considered quite relaxed in comparision-"

"Bones – stop, okay? I get it. You can pee in the woods and take a shower in the open without batting an eyelash." Booth felt heat – and not from his shower, her ministations, or the oil covering most of his upper body – begin to wrap around his neck. "But I need some semblance of privacy, okay? That includes knocking and not barging in on someone "

"I was only attempting from preventing you – and by extension, myself – from having to smell like a burning car for the rest of the day."

He could hear the hint of disappointment buried in her words. Releasing his restrictive grip, he transitioned into cradling her palms with his.

"I know, Bones." He gave her hands a squeeze. "And I appreciate it." Softening his gaze, he could help the smirk that tugged at one corner of his mouth. "But you know, you could have told me without giving me a heart-attack."

Pursing her lips, she backed down. But she was still doing to have the last word.

"That mixture – you're going to have to spread it all over you, you know."

"Yeah, Bones – I figured that part out, too."

This time, the silence between them was measured in heartbeats.

"I'll just get going… Let you finish up." Bones pointed in the direction of her own awaiting shower.

Shutting the door, Booth scrubbed his face with his hands. She was going to be the death of him – and by him, he meant everything he kept compartamentalized in a slightly perferated box – yet.

Cranking the spigot and stepping into the hot spray, he had to admit that Brennan's goop worked better than the Irish Spring he dropped into his ditty bag. And, his skin felt pretty good, too.

Toweling off, enjoying the scented air, Booth make quick work of his clothes: freshly ironed white shirt, rich navy suit jacket with oh-so-fine charcol pinstripes, fabulous tie, matching pants and brightly polka dotted socks paired with tassled loafers. Tugging at his cuffs, settling the hem of his shirt, his tie threaded through his collar but not knotted, he stepped into his shoes and ground his heels home. _Looking good, my man_.

Catching a whiff of burnt motor oil, he looked down at what used to be a suit. Not even his tie was salvageable. He was so going to submit an expense report for his clothes when he got back to the office.

Emerging from the bathroom, his jacket draped over his arm, Booth expected to see Bones waiting for him in the living room. Between the two of them, she was definitely lower maintenance. At the very least, he should be hearing the whir of a hair dryer. Focusing on the sounds coming from her bedroom, all he heard was the sound of running water.

Knocking lightly on her slightly open door, he called out, "Bones – you there? Ready to go?"

Not getting an answer had him entering her room. An overflowing bookcase stretched from floor to ceiling and encompassed one whole wall. Artifacts from around the world peppered the various horizontal surfaces. Pictures were few and far between, but the images encased in simple-but-tasteful frames meant a lot to her: her mother, her father, Russ and her when they were kids, a picture of Angela that went back at least ten years, a candid picture of him. That made him smile. Who ever had taken the picture had obviously given it to her. On the floor rested her own ruined clothes. He was so going to get whoever almost killed them – _her_.

Approaching her bathroom door, he quipped. "What's up, Bones? Aren't you the one who's always telling me that I take too long to get ready?"

Still not getting an answer, he pushed her door all the way open.

An avalanche of steam cascaded over him. The air inside the bathroom was practically liquid. The shower was running at full blast and the shower curtain was thrown wide.

Temperance Brennan slowly turned from where she had been facing her vanity. As she did, her stunned blue eyes locked with his. Stepping clear of the exquisite piece of furniture, Booth instantly knew why she hadn't answered him and why she was still dressed in her long robe.

Every surface in the bathroom was either fogged or slick with condensation. Except for the letters that spanned the breadth of her vanity's mirror:

_**DID YOU LIKE CHAPTER ONE, KATHY?**_


End file.
